Rue's Full Story
by Skylar Fray
Summary: I really enjoyed writing Rue's death in her perspective earlier this year, and now I've decided to write the entire 74th Hunger Games in her POV as well. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don't forget I love feedback! :D


"…R…u…."

I begin to stir and the images of my dream fade away.

"….ue….R..ue…"

I squeeze my eyes shut. It can't be time to wake up already, can it?

"Rue! Wake up!" A small hand lightly taps my cheek.

My eyes flutter open. My seven year old sister Rose is kneeling on the bed in front of me.

I look around. "Where is everyone?" Rose and I share a flat straw mattress on the right half of our bedroom along with our five year old sister Imogen. Our other siblings, nine year old Grace, ten year old Valerie, and four year old Clemens, the only boy in the family, share the other straw mattress a few feet away. Our parents sleep on a thin cotton sheet in the only other room in the house aside from the main room. We usually all get up at the same time, but right now the bedroom's empty.

"They're all having breakfast," she said. "Mum said to let you sleep in for a little bit, but you must get ready now."

Get ready for what? I glance out the only small window in the wall and see that the sun has long risen. Then it hits me. _It's Reaping Day._ How did I forget? I didn't get to sleep for hours last night because I was thinking about it. That must be why mum let me sleep in today. There are no other days that I am allowed to sleep in unless I'm deathly sick.

"Okay," I say. "Let's go eat." I stand.

Rose looks up at me with big eyes. "Are you afraid?" she asks. I don't have to ask her what she means.

"No," I lie. "It's only my first year, I'll be fine."

Rose holds out her hand and I help her up. Without letting go she tows me to the main room for breakfast. My family is crowded around our small table slowly nibbling on their small portions of food in an effort to make it last longer. Might as well enjoy it while you can.

I take my seat and observe my meal. I notice mum has given me more grain than everyone else. She's even added some dried berries that we only save for special occasions. I look around at my family's hungry faces.

"This isn't fair," I say.

"Eat," mum says.

I slowly spoon the food into my mouth, savoring every bite, but when I'm halfway done I can't take it anymore. Even though my stomach is still rumbling I divide the remainders between my five younger siblings. I know mum and dad will refuse if I try to give them some.

"Thanks, Rue!" they all gasp before shoving it into their hungry mouths.

I look up at mum and she gives me a small smile.

After we're all done I head into my parents' room to get my reaping outfit. I dig through an overflowing bin of clothes. They all smell of mothballs, like everyone in District 11.

"Your dress isn't in there, Rue," I hear mum say. I turn and see her holding it up. "We hung it outside so it wouldn't get wrinkled."

My dress is made of a thick off-white material. It has short sleeves lined with light pink lace, matching the hem that comes down to my knees. It buttons up with six white buttons at the back. A dark pink ribbon is sewed around the waist and ties in a bow at the front. My mom's childhood friend, Kat, made this for me. She started the day after last year's reaping so it would fit me and be ready on time. We plan to pass this dress down through the family as each of my sisters' first reaping dress, for we can't afford to buy or make dresses like Kat. She's a bit better off than us because she doesn't have a big family to feed; it's only her and her son Xavier, who is a year older than me. His father died long ago when I was still a baby. He'd been killed by peacekeepers for stealing food from the crops one too many times; he'd been trying to sneak extra food for a starving Xavier. I'll be seeing him at the reaping today, but he'll be in a different section.

I take a warm soapy bath, remembering to scrub away all the dirt on my skin with the tough bristle brush and wash my hair with our one bar of soap. After I change into my reaping dress and look at myself in the dirty mirror that leans against the wall by my parents' door. I feel oddly clean. It feels strange being dressed up like this. I've only worn a dress two other times in my life- once when I was a baby at Xavier's dad's funeral, and once when I was six at my dad's friend's wedding. All other days of my life it's been a t-shirt and overalls.

Mum weaves my hair into five thick French braids and sticks a white flower from the garden behind my left ear.

"I wore this same type of flower in my hair at my first reaping, too," she tells me with a wink.

Finally she gives me a pair of nice sandals she wore to her second reaping; my feet are a little too big for her first reaping shoes.

"You look beautiful," she says, kissing both my cheeks and my forehead.

"Mummy, I want to wear a dress!" Imogen says.

"Be thankful that you don't need to wear one, honey," mum says darkly. She glances at me, and then adds "they can get quite itchy after a while."

At one o'clock we head to the square and my nerves don't act up until I have to sign in. It only now registers that they have my name somewhere in that glass ball. District 11 has a large population, and nine slips may seem like nothing out of those thousands, but they're in there.

I hug and kiss each member of my family and try not to look afraid.

"I'll see you in a little while," mum says to me, reassuring me that it'll all go well and we'll be heading back home when it's over.

I stand in the crowd of twelve year old girls and see a few familiar faces. Opal, Ruthie, Beatrice… I look for Xavier in the thirteen year old boys crowd, but I don't see him.

I bounce on my toes nervously, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird. The voices around me blend into each other and sound kind of distant, and with the hot sun beating down on me I don't feel great at all. I just can't wait for this to be over with so I can change back into my familiar overalls and head back to work in the orchards tomorrow. It's actually pretty fun with my mockingjay friends around. I like to sing to them and listen to them pass the tunes around the orchards. Everyone enjoys my songs.

The crowd falls silent when our mayor approaches the microphone and begins to read to us the story of Panem and how the Hunger Games came to be. All of us could probably recite it along with him by now and I wonder why he still needs to read off a piece of paper. I don't listen to it because my mind is buzzing with all the overwhelming activity of the morning. This is all so unfamiliar to me and I wonder how I can put up with this for the next six years.

After reading out a short list of District 11's past victors, he brings forth our escort lady, Gretta Bloom, to pick out the names of this year's tributes. She comes forward, says a small speech that I don't hear, then clops in her tall purple heels towards the girls' glass ball. Her orange hair, which I think is a wig, sways as she walks. Her long green nails plunge into the many slips of paper and emerges holding one. She clops back towards the microphone, I keep my eyes on her full blue lips as she says

"Rue Thomson."


End file.
